


More Than Just A Dream

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate universe AU, M/M, sounds strange, tags subjective to change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:44:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's when the dreams began.</p><p>The first dream, he was walking up the stairs of an old and cluttered house. The stairs barely creeked and the doors were quiet as he opened them. Once inside, the clutter matched the outside, and there were beer cans everywhere. At the couch rather dingy, there was a man sleeping, snoring away stomach down in nothing but boxers. There was a tattoo that his mind wouldn't let himself make out, and he was off, walking to a door with cardboard reading "Keep the FUCK out!!!". And ignoring the angry scratched on letters, he enetered. There was a boy, laying on his stomach the same as the man outside though he wore dirty sweats and an even dirtier tank top. His hand lifted mindlessly and poked at the boy's back with a...when did he pick up a tire iron?</p><p>The boy roused and finally acknowledged, grunting out obscenties as he turned over to see who'd waken the beast?"</p><p>                                                                                               Or</p><p>Alternature Universe AU where the shitty lives of Ian and Mickey were all just a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even remember how this came about, but it did. And I hope you enjoy it.

Ian's been waking up in tears lately. His dreams have gone for the worst, and he has no idea how it's even possible that his subconscious could be this clear, concise, and organized. How in the hell is it even possible that he can remember everything so vividly?

The dreams started when he was 14 years old, on one of the coldest days of the year. He remembers because school had gotten out early, and his friend's mother drove him home through the fastly growing snow storm that the news had predicted. Of all the times to be exact in their reports...

But he'd been reading a book while they fought through traffic to get to his house. The clouds were grey and everything spelled death for anyone who dared to be outside- which seemed to be a lot of people. And by the time he got home, he was near the end and engrossed, a few tears shed for the main character rotting away underground with just a tube going above ground to keep her breathing. No one had made it home yet, and the lights were all off, only allowing the grey sky to be his dim and poor light. He sat right in the living room, not bothering to take off his coat or boots and finished the book, transferring the emotions of the characters onto himself as the book neared its end.

Once he was done, he walked to the kitchen to get something to snack on, feeling waited and suffocated in the empty, dark room, like the girl in the book, underground and fighting to breath over the soil poured down the tube. He needed to breathe but he didn't know why. When he was done eating, he made his way up to his room, finally discarding of his heavy coat and dried snow boots and dropped to his bed before settling in propperly. He drifted off to sleep that afternoon with his window showing nothing but dark clouds as if it was night.

That's when the dreams began.

The first dream, he was walking up the stairs of an old and cluttered house. The stairs barely creeked and the doors were quiet as he opened them. Once inside, the clutter matched the outside, and there were beer cans everywhere. At the couch, rather dingy, there was a man sleeping, snoring away stomach down in nothing but boxers. There was a tattoo that his mind wouldn't let himself make out, and he was off, walking to a door with cardboard reading "Keep the FUCK out!!!". And ignoring the angry scratched on letters, he enetered. There was a boy, laying on his stomach the same as the man outside though he wore dirty sweats and an even dirtier tank top. His hand lifted mindlessly and poked at the boy's back with a...when did he pick up a tire iron?

The boy roused and finally acknowledged, grunting out obscenties as he turned over to see who'd waken the beast.

Ian looked at the tired blue eyes and the scrunched nose. He never felt his mouth move, or even the words he supposed spoke as the dark haird boy nodded wearily and went to his drawer.

But then he was being shoved onto the bed. And he could feel the force like it was all happening, but it wasn't. They flew around the room, shoving and knocking things down and Ian never felt the force of his own fighting in a dream before, but he felt it all, the covers that he scrambled under as he leaped for the tire iron. But this boy got to him in time, snarling over him like an animal provoked. All Ian coud think was how amazing this boy looked, really.

He felt everything of that dream, from when the boy tugged at his coat and shirt to get them off quickly, to when Ian pulled at the boy's sweats to get them off, to the feel of everything that went down in that room.

When Ian woke up, it really was night, and his room was picth black. He heard sounds downstairs, and the light that came from under his door shone rather brightly. His heart was still thumping in his chest from the dream and all he could replay and for a second everything was wistful, all too bright as he opened the door and wondered,  _Is this a dream, too?_ _  
_

And now four years later and he almost couldn't bear to fall asleep. It was like he was living a life entirely different in his head and he couldn't stop it from happening. And even through the pain that he been through, the times when those dreams were _nightmares_ he still didn't want to change it. He didn't want to stop seeing Mickey Milkovich. He'd learned that at some point, once when he was able to finally muddle through and hear the words that came from his mouth.

The boy's name was Mickey Milkovich, and he was the toughest badass whom Ian had been through so much with over the past four years; fought, fucked, watched Mickey go to juvie, watch Mickey come back, watch Mickey's father, Terry, try to control every aspect of the young man's life till he was pistol whipped and made to fuck a Russian whore. The days leading up to the marriage, Ian was a bit happy to wake up and know that none of it was real, but he'd go to sleep that night and awaiting to see what happens next. Was it silly for him to think the dream would change just because of all the heartache his subconcious was putting him through? Well, given that it's been going for so long, the answer is probably yes.

He endured it all, never bothering to tell his siblings much about what he dreamt about. He'd mention the parts that involved them, as a family; how his father was a drunk and how his mother was never there to care but there enough to drop off babies and whatnot. How his eldest sister, Fiona, was the real parent and he and Lip helped her out. How Carl was a pyscho progidy (though, that part isn't really off-kilter. Even as he sits and watches his brother from the kitchen table, Ian wonders about the things that interests his brother). But regardless, none of the Gallaghers thought much of it. Lip was quick to spout of the science behind sleep: REM and the stages; he even brought in a few famous theories from Sigmund Frued that he tried to connect with the many issues that the Gallaghers seemed to face in Ian's mind. But, in all, they were just another middle class family, and Ian was able to remember that when he was awake though Mickey and his dream life suggested otherwise.

Speaking of which, things had gotten exponentially better there. Ian hadn't kicked the skipping beat of his heart as he walked through school. Mickey had come out to a bar of homophobes, including his dad, and though they had both gotten pretty beaten up after Mickey's grand exit from the closet, everything just seemed just that bit clearer. And he woke with a smile, having to check himself because he could still feel the bite of the wounds and the smile on his muscels ached. Had that really happened? He even told Lip about it over the phone. Lip actually had gotten into college, just not with as much of an issue as his dream version had. He was studying at University of Chicago, getting a full-scholarship.

"Were any of his siblings there?" Lip asked, throwing Ian off guard. Lip usually listened, but he wasn't much to ask questions unless it involved him and the infamous Mandy that was Ian's best friend and Lip's ex-girlfriend.

"I didn't really pay attention," Ian admitted. "I don't think so."

"So, Mandy wasn't there, either?" There it was. It was almost as if Lip was intrigued by this nonexistent relationship he had with the girl. Maye it was the complexity of how shitty he treated her. Ian and Lip both agreed that it's a bit fuzzy of how much it's accurate, though they admit it probably is.

"Nah, she wasn't there, actually. Maybe I'll find out soon what's happened to her. She's been pretty hidden since that Kenyatta asshole."

Lip nodded. "And with good reason. Jesus, to think there are actual guys like that out there. Makes ya kinda glad it's all just a dream, right?"

There was silence coming from Ian's end. Yes, he wanted to believe that all of it was absurd and just, quite frankly, entertainment as Ian's brain rebooted itself. But there's also an urgency to it, like he can't wait to get to sleep at night- just for the sole hope of seeing Mickey. And now that he's out and Terry in jail again, it should be easier than ever.

And everything was going grand for a couple of days until now, as he wakes up with damp cheeks and pillow.

He doesn't understand what's been happening, but his dreams fade in and out. Lip told him that a person usually has a few dreams in a night. Even though his dreams are sequential and memorable, there are long periods of black, as if he's sleeping within his sleep. And when he resurfaces in his dream, he's exactly where he was before, in Mickey's bed. Though, the sun has set and the clouds hang low in threat of a storm or something of the sort.

"You're not still sleeping," he hears Mickey say. He can't see him as he sees nothing but the dirty window and the posters on the walls. He feels his mouth move, but he can't hear what he says; and he can feel the amount of energy it takes to get whatever he says out. There's a soft thump at the back of his head and a pillow falls in front of him. Mickey must be behind him. "Get up."

"Jesus Christ, leave me alone!" Ian can tell it was supposed to be a yell, but it's muffled by his ears as if he heard it under water. He doesn't feel the tears, but he wants them to be there as his heart breaks for some reason he doesn't understand why. He's fading back into the void of black as he faintly hears the woeful voice of his boyfriend- God, he's been able to openly call Mickey that for, what, two or three days, and  _now_ his mind decides to end it all.

He wakes up and he doesn't it to end. He doesn't want this dream to end.

* * *

 

The Chicago wind is stifiling and Ian almost doesn't want to leave the house, but after fading from his own dreams like that, he needs to see something. 

The train ride isn't long. He lives in Hyde Park and all he has to do is take the green line heading towards downtown and transfer over to an orange line train going away from the loop. Soon he's off at Kedzi, looking at the orange sign he's sen so many times in his dreams. He doesn't want to start confirming his speculations here, but he can't help but sigh in relief to know it's real, just this orange sign with Kedzi written so nicely and plainly.

He walks down the familiar steps and he sees the familiar side walk. Once he gets to the corner, he knows all he has to do is turn left and he's there, where he lives in his dreams. He turns to the second block and gets antsy, seeing things he's seen before come to life, old fences and and sounds that were usually around. And then he sees the house, grey and seemingly average with an open lot right next to it. He knows it was all a dream, but he suddenly feels like he's home, a piece that's been missing for years now. 

He finds himself walking up the stairs, almost entranced by the door that he knocks once he's there in front of it. Ian waits an insufferable amount of time waiting and waiting, seeing his patience dwindling and his initial desire to have answers. When he's waited long enough to figure no one was home, he walked down the steps, trying to ignore that sinking feeling. Was it that no one was home or simple no one lived there? Shouldn't there have been a "for sale" sign on the crappy lawn if that was the case? But someone would have had to buy the land of course...

Ian wasn't deterred in lifting his spirits, however. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he walked the route he knew lead him to the Milkovich house. He felt antsy all over again and he wasn't sue what he wanted, but he wanted find something.

* * *

Mickey opened the front door, unsure of what he would see when he walked in. Would he see the shitshow of a house he'd been dreaming about for nearly four years now, or something completely different?

It turns out completely different would be the correct answer what he was greeted with was a completely  _empty_ living room that went to an empty kitchen. He walked further inside and found bare doors, no signs warning of keeing the fuck out of what was his room or anything of the sort. 

This place was nothing of what he dreamt, but he could easily place where everything would be if any of it was real.

If  _any_ of it could be real...

A few days ago, Mickey had awoken to a mix of emotions, his heart beating rapidly but his breath oddly steady. He had to check his room just to make sure the fight hadn't been real. He could feel the aches in his mouth and his nose. The amount of fear he had that Ian would leave him again was too great for him not to come out as he did. He didn't want to have to dream without Ian there. But now he woke with complete sunken emotion. Why couldn't Ian get up? He rather deal with the hyperactive Ian that came back to him than see him dead in his bed. He couldn't deal with it. And he was afraid that Ian might have been slipping from him. Fuck, had the dream been ending?

"You want me to come with you?" Mandy asked over her bowl of cereal after hearing Mickey explain what had happened. She'd been very interactive in hearing his stories, feeling how much closer it made them to hear about the struggles they dealt with in Mickey's sleep, the father almost unlike the one they saw everyday.

Mickey shook his head, still reeling over what happened in the day of his dream. "Nah, it's fine. I just...I wanna see something."

He wasn't exactly sure what it was he wanted to see or know, but he knew it didn't take much to get there. All he had to do was walk over to Roosevelt and take the orange going away from downtown, and he was already lighting up to see the Kedzi sign, as plain and ordinary as it could be. Everything was the same as he remembered- no, as he  _dreamt_. 

He turned left, ony a block away from the Gallagher house. But he turned where he knew it would get to his house- his  _dream_ house (how ironic of a statement that could be for someone like Mickey Milkovich).

And once her was there at that decrepit house, he was walking up the porch that barely squeaked and opening the door to...nothing.

He opened the door that lead to his room and peeked inside first, almost expecting to see Ian lying in their bed with his back to him, just as he left him in their dream. But there was nothing; just clean, old, wooden floors and walls and the window.

He walked in further, remembering the first unbearable time here, where he stared out the window.

_"What are you hoping, I tell you not to go? That iIm gonna chase after you like some bitch?"_

_"I didn't come here for you."_

Mickey cursed himself. Fuck, it'd all seemed so real. How could all this be here and it be...fake?

_"Really? That's all you're gonna say to him?"_

Mickey had turned then, to see if maybe Ian had stuck around, giving him one last chance to really show that he cared whether Ian was gone or not. Mickey had the ability, but his subconscious was a bit stunted, and whenever he wanted to say those words, they never came.

Mickey turned back as he replayed the moment in his head and almost looked past the red head that stood at the door, staring back at him with a flooded sense of awe.

"Mickey?" his voice was low and uncertain but also hoping. "You're real?"

Mickey's jaw went slack, and he felt as though he was in a dream all over again, struggling to get the words out. Fuck.

Ian Gallagher wasn't just a dream.

 

 


	2. Nothing's Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey was never allowed to think that in his subconscious, that he really loved Ian Gallagher. It was like he watched everything through the eyes of a stranger, someone so broken that they couldn't admit their obvious cracks. He wanted to speak and fill the silence, but what if he couldn't move his lips? What if no sound came out and he was screaming into a void, the way he used to dream when he was a child? Should he pinch himself? Was he really going to resort to that?  
> He bit at his lip, suddenly aware of every breath, every rise of shoulders, ever thump of his beating heart. He was awake, and Ian was standing there before him.
> 
> "I'm awake," Mickey whispered, feeling even his vocal chords, feeling even the sound travel to his own ears. "You're real."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written because I actually had something to offer as a follow-up chapter

"You're real?"

Ian almost hadn't gotten the words out so clear since they fought the pressure building from his chest and out his throat. This couldn't be real. No,  _this_ had to be a dream, too.  _Insanity is not being able to tell a dream from reality,_ Lip had told him. So hard he gone insane? Ian would very well believe that rather than to think he dreamt a place that was so real and so close.

Mickey nodded, his eyes blue and vibrant under the watchful and speculative glare of Ian. None of this could be real, he thought to himself repeatedy. He'd much rather believe he was asleep than find the real Ian Gallagher, the one he fell in love with in his dreams.

Mickey was never allowed to think that in his subconscious, that he really  _loved_ Ian Gallagher. It was like he watched everything through the eyes of a stranger, someone so broken that they couldn't admit their obvious cracks. He wanted to speak and fill the silence, but what if he couldn't move his lips? What if no sound came out and he was screaming into a void, the way he used to dream when he was a child? Should he pinch himself? Was he really going to resort to that?

He bit at his lip, suddenly aware of every breath, every rise of shoulders, ever thump of his beating heart. He was awake, and Ian was standing there before him.

"I'm awake," Mickey whispered, feeling even his vocal chords, feeling even the sound travel to his own ears. "You're real."

Ian smiled, the brilliant one Mickey's seen so clearly in his dreams. Even if everything else was a blur that would confuse him later on, he was sure of that smile. And it was a weight pressing down on him suddenly, to know that Ian Gallagher existed. What if he hadn't been dreaming something fake. What if he'd been dreaming reality. He was falling to madness, for sure.

Mickey hadn't noticed he was kneeling until Ian walked over a bit of worry marking his features as he kneeled down in front of him, hesitant to reach out a hand and steady the dizziness caused by the whirling in his head. "You ok?"

Mickey nodded, mainly just to make voluntary movements, something he couldn't do in his dreams. Once he had a confirmation, Ian crawled to sit next to Mickey, folding his legs and leaning forward. Mickey sat properly and looked around at the empty room, as did Ian. They both imagined what they dreamt of, the dresser full of weapons and outdated clothes, a closet, the walls still covered in posteres though with a bit more organization and the bed; where they sat at that moment, a bed should have been there.

They were quiet, but imaging it all, it seemed to ease them out of their surreal states. This was all real.

Ian huffed out a laugh and Mickey turned at the sound. Ian's eyes still wandered as he spoke. "How...how did this happen?" The question was silent, not as if he was actually asking Mickey but speaking his thoughts aloud. Yet, Mickey still answered, "I have no idea."

They fell back to silence, seemingly content with trying to wrap their heads around it all. "The sad part is," Ian spoke again, now with the intention of speaking outright to Mickey, the boy whom he loved and was very very alive and real, "I don't actually know you." He took in a breath, like he had more to say, but he only sighed and Mickey gave a weak smile.

"So, you  _don't_ actually have 5 other siblings and two dead beat parents?" Mickey glanced at Ian and smiled, seeing him and only thinking of what they'd been through.

Ian laughed. "Oh, no, I do- have 5 other siblings, that is. My parents are actually fairly active and pretty decent, if I say so myself." He leaned back, stretching his legs out and resting himself on his palms. "What about you? There any truth to it?"

Mickey gave a slow nod. "Uh, Mandy isn't as abrasive as she is, but she still has the 'no bullshit' attitude. My dad isn't a raging homophobic bigot, and Iggy and Collin are pretty literate..." Mickey trailed off at a few other things that he's discovered in his dreams. "There are some things I don't mention when I talk to them about this stuff, y'know?"

Ian nodded, remembering when he and Lip went on a hunt to find his actual birth father. Like hell was Ian ever going to mention that to anybody, and just because he wasn't living the shitty life his dream had created for him, that didn't mean there still weren't some complications in their family that weren't stressful enough. But he most definately didn't want to think about that. "So what do you think this means?" Ian perked up.

Mickey shook his head and shrugged. "I don't..know-"

"Oh, c'mon," Ian urged. "You're not the least bit curious as to why any of this happened?"

"Well, I never said I wasn't curious, I just said I didn't know." From the bright expression on Ian's face, it looked like Ian had an idea. "What do  _you_ think?"

Ian huffed a sigh. " This may sound a bit crazy, but maybe it was meant to be..." his voice dwindled as Mickey scoffed.

"Fuck off, man." Mickey peeped before taking a long hard look and measuring the ginger's doleful look. "You seriously think that?" He immediately regretted his tone, seeing the minute flinch Ian made when he asked. "I mean," he quickly countered, "I'm not trying to say that it's completely idiotic to think that we dreamt up a world where we come together in the most impossible circumstances in order to meet each other in real life, but...actually I think that's exactly how I feel."

"Well, if it's so idiotic, then why are we sitting here, right now, instead spending the day doing something else, like being with the people we know that are real?" It was Mickey's turn to flinch with the slightest of a grimace. "Sorry," Ian mumbled in apology.

"Look, I came here because you were acting all depressed, lying in bed all day and it just seemed wrong." Ian's shock was deeply rooted in his own thoughts. Was Mickey seriously getting at something he was too defeated and scared to say in his dream? "I was fucking worried, ok?"

Ian nodded with fervor. Shifting his weight, he leaned in closer to Mickey, who made no move to change his postition at any time. "And you came here because you were worried it was ending, right?"

No, Ian couldn't possibly be real, reading his mind like that. It wasn't until then that he shied away, looking over at the wall, the cieling, anything but those knowing eyes. But his eyes weren't the only thing Ian could read. He gave another breathy laugh as he leaned back and Micey could almost feel the smug grin on the ginger's face. "My point exactly. You don't think it's as idiotic as you make it sound."

Mickey's eyes rolled upward toward the cieling before landing on the smug ass next to him. He bit back a smart remark and exchanged for a burning question. "What the fuck happened, man?"

Ian sobered at the lines in Mickey's pale forehead as he scrunched his brows together. "I have no idea. It beats me. But I could feel it, like, I was just looking into nothing, like when you close your eyes as you wait to fall asleep. There was nothing, just black. Then it would all flood back and the sun was going down and I felt drained and unable to move a muscle."

"Like you were depressed?" Mickey's heard a lot about depression, especially around the time his mother passed away so many years ago. He never understood it at the time, but it became clearer and clearer on what it actually was. He wanted to ask what this mean, already making the conversation go full circle. "Ian..."

The smile was so soft, genuine and Mickey stuttered off, wondering what made that smile. As if he knew what Mickey was thinking, he spoke. "It's weird hearing you say my name out loud like this, to know I've actually heard it with my own ears, y'know?"

The older man had to take a minute. Yes, they were awake and sitting in the empty room that was supposed to be Mickey's-  _their_ \- room, as of late. He was awake and actually seeing the boy that he never thought he'd see out of his own head, with the same face, eyes, smile, body. "Where are we supposed to go from here?"

Ian shrugged, seeming to make that his new form of responding. "Well, we know we exist. We know this  _place_ exists. Maybe you could get put away your feelings of how idiotic all this is and accept it for however this goes." He shrugged again, his face turned as if to say, 'It's just a suggestion' though the way his green eyes peeked from his copper lashes, he was saying how much he'd hope Mickey would oblige.

"Seriously? The fuckin' puppy dog look?" Mickey laughed and tried to hide his grin in his shoulder but failed miserably. "You know, so far, you're not much different from how I dreamt you." He laughed aloud again as Ian settled for another smug gesture.

"I, uh, wasn't thinking much of what would happen if I met you in real life but..." Ian nodded his head to Mickey's hands, and they both examined the bare fingers, with nothing but hair to darken the knuckles, "I kinda hoped you would have the tattoos. I'm a sucker for bad boys," Ian smirked. "Still living up to the dream, I guess." Ian hesitated, watching the free spirit of a boy laugh next to him, and shouldered him. "So, you gonna try it out, whatever this is?"

What did Mickey have to lose, really? He was a guy from a middle-class family with the minimal amount of struggles unlike his subconscious makes him to have. He sighed before nodding, standing up. Ian looked up at him for an explanation. "I'm not sure how long we're gonna do this for, and my ass is gonna get numb from sitting on the floor. Let's find a change of scenery."

Ian followed, and they exitted the house with one look over as they made a turn to head back to the train station. "So, you're not from around here, are you?" Ian guessed as they walked farther from where their dreams took place.

* * *

 

By the time Mickey finally got home, the cloudy sky had darkened and the street lights shone off the low clouds, making the night seem blue or purple. He liked cloudy nights, such as today.

Mandy walked down the stair by the door to meet her brother, shrugging off his coat and slipping out of his shoes. They stared at each other as they waited for both to speak, mirroring the same expression with a raised eyebrow. Mandy broke first. "So, what happened?"

"What do you think happened?" He loved surprising his sister with things, and making her sweat with sympathy or worry was his favourite way to come at her.

"Did you find something? Like, were the houses there? Were people living in them?" She leaned on the railing to make room for Mickey as he climbed next to her.

"Well, I went to the house we were living in, and it was fuckin' empty."

"Like, completely? No furniture or anything?"

"Zilch."

As he suspected, her face had fallen with a sullen expression. "Sorry, dude. I mean, I'm not sure what you were looking for exactly, but that's kinda disappointing. So why are you getting back so late?"

They stopped at the kitchen island, Mickey on one side and Mandy with hopeful blue eyes staring at him from the other side. He sighed with a sad smile. He was getting to good at this. He turned to the refridgerator, leaving his sister but feeling her stare in the back of his head, waiting patiently. "I was talkin' to Ian." It was deathly quiet safe for the sound of bottles clinking as he searched for anything to keep himself from bursting at the seams from excitement and amusement.

When he finally collected himself and put on a straight enough face, he turned back, a can of pop in his hand. He need to keep his mouth busy as he watched his sister gape as if she were a fish out of water, gasping for air. "You met...Ian...Gallagher?"

He smiled then, unable to keep the excitements of the day at bay. "He was there, searching just as I was."

"He's fucking real?!?" Mandy exclaimed leaning over the island, practically resting her upper half on it. He couldn't hold back the laughter of Mandy's animations. "Are you kidding me right now? Mickey, you shouldn't even play like this- for both of our's sakes."

He raised his hands in surrender, to show there were no tricks up his sleeve and nothing to hide. "I'm being serious. Fuck, you think  _you're_ surprised; I've been dreaming about the guy since I was 15 years old- how the fuck do you think  _I_ felt?"

"But what does that mean then?" She gasped, figuring it out quickly. "It was meant to be," she cooed. At Mickey's groan, she held an argument. "Don't give me that, dude. You know I'm not into that true love shit but...seriously! This is all real!"

"Yeah, but it makes no sense." In real life her and Ian would have been best friends, too. All that bullshit about "meant to be". Please.

"Who  _cares?_ Mick, the guy that you love is real and a human being!"

Mickey stopped her. "Woah, hey! Who said anything about love?" Sure, he's admitted to himself, but...

She stared right into his very soul with that glare, with eyes that look like his own. He hated that look from her. "Mick, I told you not to play. I don't wanna get all 'Hercule' on you with the Muses and shit but just admit you're in love- and you have been for some time, now. You can't hide it from me."

Mickey took another long and languid sip, mulling over her words, before he huffed. "So do you wanna hear about the real Ian Gallagher or not?"

Mandy perked up, forgetting her past goal of getting Mickey to admit his feelings. "Yes, please."

He rested his arms on the counter. "Ok, well, his parents aren't total assholes, and he does actually have 5 other siblings. They live in a nice house in Hyde Park, close to the University of Chicago where Lip is currently finishing off his freshman year at. Fiona works at a sales company, Debbie and Carl are pretty decent kids, and Liam is actually their mother's child from when they were separated for a while but she got back with their dad, Frank."

Mandy squinted her eyes, trying to see past Mickey's words. "Do you really think I give a shit about that right now?" Before Mickey could answer, she waved her hands. "Tell me about Ian, dammit!"

"Fuck, fine! Ian's..." Mickey couldn't find the right word, "Ian. He's almost exactly how he is in my dreams. He's so caring and loyal, it makes me wanna puke-"

"Is he still hot like a summer's afternoon?" Mandy had tired of beating around what really mattered at the moment.

Mickey rolled his eyes but still answered. "Definitely. He doesn't do ROTC, though, so he gets most of his hardcore training from school sports, like, track and field, Rugby, baseball...that kinda stuff."

"And what dd he think of you?"

"The only thing he expressed disappointment about was not having my knuckle tats. Any more questions, Patrick Jane? Can you get a good enough read on the situation yet?"

Mandy sneered at her brother's teasing and stood up straight. "Did he say anything about me? Did he wanna know if I was still a badass?"

"I confirmed that you still are, in fact, a lame ass. No need to worry." He laughed out as he blocked Mandy's advances. Once she gave up, he laid his arm down and smiled down at his can of pop. "We, uh, exchanged numbers."

Mandy wouldn't say she squealed, but something emitted from her throat at hearing the adorable situation of Mickey Milkovich. How was any of this possible?

A few hours later and he was in bed, replaying again the days events- he almost forgot about the nightmare he had last night. If he hadn't met Ian today, his pale back would have looped through his mind all day, and he couldn't handle that. And as he drifted off to sleep, he let himself believe that maybe the dreams were over because he met the ginger he'd been dreaming of for so long.

That is, until he's asleep again.

Starting where they finished off when he was awake. He doesn't know it's happened till he wakes up, tears running down his face-the tears he tried so hard to keep back as he heard Fiona speak- and his hands shaking where they clench the pillow and the covers-still not able to break anything, just as he wanted to in that dream.

The grey light shines through his window and nothing has changed.

_"He's staying here, with me."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Was this a cool idea or what? Haha, I'm joking (kinda)  
> Lemme know what ya think or if you thought this sucked or found it good for some reason, you could send me prompts at my tumblr ask, same username  
> ALSO: The book I was alluding to in the beginning is "What Happened to Cass McBride?" it's really lovely. The situation the beginning was what happened to me, haha.


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